A Photo Is Worth 1,000 Words…

August, 2020. My mother has now completed every puzzle ever made during her time sheltering-in-place, and therefore has begrudgingly resorted to cleaning her house. This week’s big project was sorting through old photos, the best of which she proceeded to hold out and show to me when I visited today. She would lean in closer to me with each one, till I finally shouted “Get back! Six Feet!” To which she angrily responded “I DON’T HAVE IT!” to which I rolled my eyes with “I know, we’re trying to keep it that way, only you aren’t trying!”

At any rate, there are numerous doozies in the pile, but there is one image that really captured my attention today. It is a photo of me with my parents when I am seven. Upon first glance it is just a sweet family photo. However, this afternoon something struck me for the first time. Let’s unpack this image:

Location: We are posing in the living room of the house I grew up in. The house my mom is now sheltering-in-place in, the house I am now delivering groceries to and trying to keep from contaminating.

Mom: In the photo my mother is standing, dark haired and beautiful, looking her typical 10 years younger than she is. She is wearing a red dress (her favorite color) that she made herself (we were house poor, and she is crafty), and is suddenly leaning into my dad to pose.

Dad: My father is standing with a bit of an untamed brilliant look (which he was) and a bit socially awkward (which he also was) despite the fact that he is only surrounded by his wife and child. He is wearing a pink dress-shirt and blue-and-white striped suit pants with a white belt. (???) Yes, the man has been dead for over 14 years and looking back at his outfits is still unbearable for me. He became even worse/ better at embarrassing me this way as I got older, and by the time I was in high school he prided himself on various conflicting plaid pants and jacket combos to make me roll my eyes, and loudly proclaim to my friends that I was adopted. (Alas, I was not.) But he found this amusing as well, and sometimes he would burst in, say something incredibly ridiculous in front of my peers, and quickly follow it up with “She is adopted!” and leave the room. As if to bizarrely inflict pain and then in the next instant let me off the hook. It was his way of communicating… something. It’s unclear exactly what. Perhaps his love for a slightly Stockholm syndrome style of parenting?

Me: I am a little taller than my parents waist height and am standing in front of my dad (probably in the early stages of trying to hide his ridiculous clothing choices from view) however I am also upstaging him by wearing a purple (my favorite color) princess dress which my mother made for me, complete with a rhinestone tiara, a rhinestone necklace, and holding my first cat, Timmy, who is a large orange tom cat that likely weights more than I do. I have dark eyes and a slight smirk and it is fairly clear that you can do whatever you want to my parents, but if you touch my cat I will cut you.

Cat: Timmy is huge, and while I happen to know he was a terror outside in the neighborhood, he clearly is the most docile creature in the world when he is in my arms, and will happily let me hold him forever. (Or dress him up etc., but I digress.)

Upon first glance, it is just a sweet family photo… But here is the most interesting thing about the photo. If you take a moment to look at the décor behind us, you will see there are various paper decorations in red, white, and blue hanging from the ceiling and lining the entry planter. Given this information, it is clearly 4th of July. Knowing my parents, and the firework view from our house, and our tradition, we were definitely 30 seconds away from guests arriving for a huge 4^th of July party. This explains my mom’s red dress with blue and white flowers, my dad’s blue and white striped pants and white belt, and well, nothing quite explains his pink dress shirt, but we get the idea and will let it slide.

What is not explained is: WHY THE HELL AM I DRESSED IN A PURPLE PRINCESS COSTUME, COMPLETE WITH TIARA AND NECKLACE ON THE  4^TH OF JULY?

This is where the choose your own adventure part of the story comes into play:

Backstory #1: There were stressful hours of parents yelling at each other to finish various tasks before all the guests arrived. We were running late and they both forgot the ice. I was caught in the middle of everything and at a certain point was yelled at to go change my clothes and get dressed up. I likely protested. I likely lost… But clearly, I did not lose quietly, and judging by my little smirk, I think that I have won, and now it is too late for my parents to do anything about my outfit choice for the evening. (Highly likely.)

Backstory #2: Someone said “party” and I put on the attire I felt was appropriate. With all the hullabaloo, and due to my penchant for costumes, no one actually noticed that I was wearing anything out of the ordinary… because it wasn’t out of the ordinary for me. (Also highly likely.)

Backstory #3: I really was adopted from England, where I was actually a princess, and there was no such thing as a 4^th of July celebration. This was my daily attire. (Highly likely to be my backstory at the time.)

So, there you have it. One old photo, 1,000 words exactly, and still, one big question…